


Hope In This Insanity

by catholicschoolgirl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Zayn, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Superhero Harry, Unfortunate lack of Niall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-23 23:06:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2559098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catholicschoolgirl/pseuds/catholicschoolgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All of it had been too good to be true. The graphic artist and the gorgeous superhero. This was not a fucking romantic comedy."</p><p>Or the one where Harry is a superhero and Zayn really did not sign up to be Mary Jane Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope In This Insanity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [candythongs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candythongs/gifts).



> For the prompt "Zayn is working on a graphic novel ft. superheroes ... and then he accidentally finds one (Harry)." Hope it doesn't suck. 
> 
> Tremendous thanks to Rue for holding my hand through all of this and to Emily for giving it a read-through. You are both amazing. 
> 
> Title comes from the Misterwives song, "Reflections."
> 
> [Tumblr](http://catholicschoolgirl.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/xtracalidopechk)

It wasn't like Zayn sought his hero out. It wasn't that kind of story.

As much of a comic book nerd as Zayn was, he'd never really put much stock into the whole idea of being a superhero, let alone dating one. Hell, the idea of falling in love with a superhero sounded like a lot of hassle, actually, with your partner potentially missing several very important life moments to fight crime at the low-end risk spectrum, and the high-end risk entailing pieces of your body ending up in the refrigerator for them to discover once they got home at night.

But sometimes the universe has a really tremendous sense of humor, and so it plopped Zayn right into the middle of a whirlwind. It would've been poetic or cool, maybe, if Zayn hadn't been so fucking _terrified_ throughout.

 

It all started in the summer. Louis Tomlinson, one of Zayn's best friends from the Academy of Art University, had a yacht for reasons Zayn never completely understood, and every time it was even fairly nice out, Louis would round up his friends and go out on the Bay to watch a Giants game, get drunk, and maybe catch a splasher.

Zayn wouldn't go so far as to say that he hated boats, but he wasn't exactly happiest when he was out on the water, at the complete mercy of nature and its tremendous mood swings. Zayn couldn't swim, had never really gotten around to learning and cultivating that particular skill, so anytime he absolutely had to get on a boat, he tried to spend the majority of the time indoors so he wouldn't have to watch the terrifying rise and fall of the Bay's waves.

This time the boys were not willing to humor Zayn for whatever reason, insisting that he hang out with them on the deck. Louis wasn't outside, was probably getting off in one of the small bedrooms with that Liam guy he had met on Grindr, so Zayn was stuck sitting around with Louis' tech friends, all of whom seemed to think that working at Twitter meant they were saviors of the world or something. Zayn had never been huge on the whole frat culture thing that seemed to also be pervasive amongst the tech crowd, so he just tried to keep quiet, resting his weight against the creaky bannister with a beer in hand, eyes trained on the television screen showing the game.

Even looking back on it, Zayn wasn't entirely sure how he could be so stupid as to lean against that goddamn railing. Everyone knew that it was barely held together. But one minute Zayn was on the boat, and the next he could hear the grunt of creaking metal, his body falling through the air before his back hit the water's surface, the temperature of the Bay painful and icy cold.

It happened so fast and it hurt so much to fall and Zayn didn't even know how to _float_ , could only think about how fucking cold he was and how he couldn't swim and how he was going to punch Louis for dragging him onto that godforsaken yacht the next time Zayn saw him and then panicking because what if he didn't get the chance to punch Louis, what if this was _it_ , and then –

Arms were wrapping around Zayn's waist just as water began to seep its way into his mouth, head ducking underneath the waves as he sputtered and coughed and tried not to cry. There was a burst of water around him, everything moving so quickly, and then Zayn's back was thumping against concrete, unfamiliar hands still around his waist. Zayn coughed up a fair amount of water before retching up bile, nerves shot, arms quaking, and his throat sputtering and desperate for air as his mind ran over his close call.

When Zayn finally stopped retching and calmed down enough to look around himself, he realized that he was on the Embarcadero, shivering and wet, and there was a boy next to him. Some kid in a bluish-green Spandex costume with an Aquarius patch on the chest, the ripples of fabric almost mimicking the Bay's waves. He was tall, lanky, even, and he was wearing a mask that matched his costume, although Zayn had no idea how he was able able to swim with something completely covering his face like that.

People were staring, murmuring, and pulling out iPhones and Androids to take pictures and videos, but Zayn's entire focus did not extend beyond the broad shoulders of his savior. Because that's who this guy was, yeah? A rescuer. A hero.

Zayn felt something akin to star worship settle heavy in his bones. He opened his mouth to say something, a “Thanks” maybe, but nothing came out.

The boy got up with a sheepish sort of shrug and then he was leaping back into the Bay, disappearing underneath the water's surface. Zayn watched him go before slumping back against the Embarcadero with a groan. He could hear the piercing wail of sirens in the distance.

Zayn had absolutely _no idea_ what the fuck had just happened.

 

Zayn didn't really use Twitter or check Instagram regularly or keep up with local news or pay attention to the world beyond his own little bubble if he could help it, so he actually had no idea that San Francisco had its own masked crusader. The guy didn't have a real superhero name yet, but he'd been caught on social media a few times running around the city, rescuing cats from trees and helping old ladies carry their groceries up into their apartments. Apparently somebody from Google had already developed an app to keep track of all of the random places he was popping up and to memorialize his good deeds.

Louis told Zayn all about it the next weekend, when Louis was trying to make Zayn feel better about almost dying by treating him to brunch. Zayn would've preferred for Louis to pay for Zayn's Emergency Room visit, especially since Louis was loaded enough to have a yacht and an apartment in the Marina, but Zayn guessed that a meal would suffice.

“You're the first person he's ever legitimately saved,” Louis explained around a mouthful of runny eggs. It only took about twenty minutes for Louis to demonstrate that he was more than a little obsessed with this masked crusader, although Louis blamed all of his knowledge on hanging out with that new guy of his, Liam Payne. In between the waiter taking their order and their food arriving, Louis had already rattled off so many facts about this alleged superhero that Zayn had difficulty keeping everything straight. “I checked the app and everything. It's only been cats and like this one dog who ran off a leash. But he fucking jumped into the Bay and saved you, dude! I don't even know where he came from. It was like, one minute everyone was shouting that you'd fallen overboard, and then the next he was hoisting you out of the water and just diving right back in.”

“You better fix that fucking railing,” Zayn replied darkly. “I'm not getting back onto that cursed boat until you do.”

Louis waved his hand in that way that meant he wasn't listening to Zayn at all and his yacht would continue to remain a death trap. “I wonder what that means though? That he saved _you_ first?”

“That he didn't want to watch someone drown when he had the ability to prevent it?”

“Maybe he's been watching you and believes this heroic display will win your love,” Louis mused.

“I'm pretty sure that's not it,” Zayn answered around his own mouthful of eggs. “Costume like that? He would stand out if he was watching me at work or from behind displays at Trader Joe's.”

“You're right. Plus the kid strikes me as more of a Whole Foods, farmer's market and hemp bag kind of guy.”

Zayn just stared at Louis. He had learned over the years that sometimes that was the best way to respond.

“Do you think he has real super powers?” Louis continued. “I mean, he jumped in and out of the water like it was nothing, but none of the other sightings on the app reported anything unusual. Like, no superhuman displays of strength, no flying. Nothing.”

Zayn shrugged. “Dunno. The whole thing was crazy. Like, it felt like we legitimately burst out of the water, Lou.”

Louis nodded to himself before whipping his phone out and immediately banging away at it. “Definitely gonna say he has super powers then. I'll update my sighting information, just gimme a sec – ”

Zayn sighed, shaking his head at his best friend's antics. Zayn finished eating his French toast in a contemplative silence, trying to convince himself that Louis couldn't possibly be onto anything.

 

As spring crept into summer, Zayn didn't have to worry about convincing himself of much, mostly because he didn't really keep up with this superhero. He just didn't have the time, not when things were really starting to take off with his illustration career. Zayn was still a fairly recent graduate from the Academy of Art University, only two years removed from graduation, but luckily he had _some_ connections. One of his buddies, Niall Horan, recently received the approval to start a series for Image Comics in Berkeley – the same publisher that brought _Wanted_ and _The Walking Dead_ to the world. Niall was an awesome writer but he had always struggled with art and design, so he brought Zayn on as part of a small four-person team to begin banging the graphic novel out.

They wouldn't really get paid until the series started to sell, obviously, so Zayn reverted to his old college budget, cutting corners just to scrape by. Luckily, he always had a bunch of odd jobs lying around to help with the bills, plus when his grandfather died, he left Zayn a decent amount of money that Zayn had ambitious plans of investing. But Zayn felt guilty about all of the magazine subscriptions he had somehow accumulated over the last six or so years, as well the money he spent eating out and not cooking for himself. So Zayn decided to cancel everything but his subscription to the local newspaper and vowed to only go out if it meant someone else was treating.

Zayn _might_ have spent a few minutes every morning flicking through the _San Francisco Chronicle_ and looking for mentions of the city's vigilante while enjoying a cup of coffee, but nobody needed to know what he did in his spare time. It was research for Niall's graphic novel, even.

 

More often than not, Zayn would say that he liked San Francisco all right. He had grown up in a suburb on the peninsula and San Francisco had always held a certain allure, the big city off in the distance, gleaming through the fog. There was plenty to do, sure, new restaurants always opening and so-and-so having an exhibit at such-and-such museum. Plus the Mission branch staff of the SF SPCA were super nice and always let Zayn play around with the kittens.

But sometimes Zayn absolutely _hated_ city life. Hated feeling like a cog in a machine, anonymous and unimportant. Sure, sometimes Zayn liked nothing more than going unnoticed, but sometimes he resented the feeling. Hated the grind of waking up and going out for coffee like every fucking one else, hated how easily he was able to blend in with all of the annoying, gentrifying pricks that were taking over the city. He simultaneously wanted to be acknowledged and did not want anyone to notice him, and something about the hills in the distance made him think about this contradiction too often.

Zayn hadn't been out for a while, but Niall wanted to celebrate the fact that they were able to finish a first solid draft of the graphic novel. Niall lived in Oakland near Pandora's building, so Zayn schlepped across the Bay for a night of burgers and beer. Zayn was full and pleasantly buzzed when he took the last train to get back across to San Francisco.

As was typical for the midnight trains, there were four rowdy boys in Zayn's car. They could have been anywhere between seventeen and Zayn's own age, loud, drunk, abrasive and seemingly on the lookout for a fight. They kept laughing and yelling and generally being obnoxious and were eying some of the passengers in a way that made Zayn a little nervous. Zayn didn't really want to deal with it, was still so happy and buzzed, so he just continued to listen to Sam Smith's album and prayed that this train ride would end sooner rather than later.

Zayn damn near ran out of the car once he got to 16th and Mission, exiting the station and taking a moment to pull out a cigarette and tuck it behind his ear. Zayn turned down the volume of his headphones as he began his walk back home, his boots sounding extraordinarily loud as they pounded against the concrete.

Zayn frowned to himself as he slowed to a trot. That wasn't right. He wasn't even wearing boots – he had Converse on today.

Those weren't his footsteps.

Zayn felt vaguely like Spider-Man when he dodged the first punch that came at him from behind, but he very quickly lost his footing and ended up banging his shoulder into the side of some building, his breath rushing out of him all at once at the sudden jolt of pain. The boys from the train were very quickly on him, one grabbing at Zayn's duffel bag where he had it slung across his shoulders, while another landed a solid punch to Zayn's jaw. The other two seemed to be playing lookout, standing back and mildly surveying the scene in front of them. Zayn huffed and went into defensive mode, years of boxing training suddenly rearing to the forefront of his mind as he dodged another punch and instead lunged himself at the kid trying to steal his bag, knocking both of them to the ground and settling himself on top of the kid's chest before connecting his fist with the boy's face, the kid's nose giving way with a sick crunch.

It was chaos after that, two of the other guys pulling Zayn off and pushing him back up against the building. Zayn pulled his arms up against his midsection in order to defend against their punches, bracing himself for what was shaping up to be an absolute curb stomping, but the blows never came.

Instead, Zayn was doused with water. Which like – _what_? Was this a new mugging tactic Zayn just hadn't heard about?

Zayn looked up, his breath coming harsh and ragged. All four of the muggers looked like wet cats and about as shocked as Zayn felt. They sputtered and then another round of water fell from the sky, this time completely missing Zayn and only landing on the boys.

“Stop it!” one of the boys yelled, terror etched all over his face as more water fell on top of his head, knocking off the Giants snapback he was wearing.

“It's not me, dumbass!” Zayn retorted. “ _Clearly_!”

“Yeah, it's not him, sorry,” a voice said from somewhere above all of them.

It actually took Zayn a moment to locate where the voice was coming from, but when he did, he couldn't control the blinding smile that spread across his face. Because there, standing on top of a fire escape and wearing the same Bay-colored costume that Zayn had been dreaming about for months, was San Francisco's savior.

“Actually, no, I'm not sorry,” the boy continued, his shoulders rippling as he raised a thoughtful hand to his chin. “You were trying to steal his stuff and that's not nice.”

The minute the boy stopped talking, there was actually a loud sound, almost like the crack of thunder, and water poured from the sky, a veritable biblical deluge, and all of it aimed at the muggers. They coughed and screamed, almost as though they were drowning above ground, and then they were gone, darting down the alleyway as quickly as they had attacked Zayn.

Zayn was absolutely speechless. It looked like he was about to owe Louis some money or something, because this kid clearly had superpowers. And he had saved Zayn. _Again_. Zayn wondered if the boy knew – ?

“I've seen you before!” the boy exclaimed, climbing down the fire escape and pushing his legs through the gaps in the staircase. His voice was deep and slow, reminding Zayn of the homemade molasses his father used to bring back from trips to the South. The boy was nowhere near as graceful above ground as Zayn remembered him being underwater, all speed and agility and superhuman reflexes. He actually seemed more than a little awkward on that fire escape as he swung his legs to and fro, cocking his head to the side as he examined Zayn. “I pulled you out of the Bay.”

“You did,” Zayn said, shaking his hair out and looking up at the boy. “Looks like I have a superhero stalker.”

Even with the other boy's face entirely covered by a mask, Zayn could make out his obvious dismay, imagined the way his face screwed up in a pout. “I am nothing of the sort,” the boy objected. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

“Really? Never would've thought.” Zayn reached behind his ear for the cigarette he had stashed, blood thrumming with the urge to light up, but it was no longer there. More than likely it was on the ground somewhere, knocked away when the boy had splashed him with water. Either way, Zayn had the sense that this young hero wouldn't appreciate Zayn smoking. Would probably give Zayn a lecture about lung health and everything. “I saw you in the _Chronicle_ a few days ago. Thought SOMA was more your haunt.”

The boy shrugged, the shift of his shoulders sending ripples through the clinging fabric of his costume. “I make exceptions. The city isn't big. It's less than 50 square miles, you know.”

“Is your deal with the _Chronicle_ like a Peter Parker thing? Do you take your own pictures and send them in?”

The boy laughed, the sort of clear, ringing guffaw that made Zayn feel strangely proud of himself. “Nah, I have a friend, plus there's that app – it's a freelance photographer type of deal. It's a hard job market. Figured I could give him a hand. The least I could do, you know.”

“So I just have to do a bit of Google stalking and I'll figure out who you are.”

“Maybe,” the boy acknowledged with a slight cock of his head, bringing gloved fingers to stroke at his chin. “Although my friend does send the pictures in all anonymously. He's super concerned with privacy. As we all should be these days, I suppose. Like, Facebook. They mine your data and send it to corporations. Selling your consumer profile, or whatever. Same with Google, actually. But now I'm wondering – how do they pay my friend if he sends all of the pictures in anonymously? Maybe he doesn't send them anonymously. Maybe they just credit him as being anonymous in the paper. It doesn't matter. You don't want to do too much looking into me, because either way, Google is selling your search history. Next thing you know, all of your ads will be for superhero Halloween costumes. We don't want that.”

Zayn smiled, shaking his head up at this supposed savior of San Franciscans. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Ramble.”

Zayn would kill to know whether the boy was blushing, what sort of expression was dancing across his face. He certainly sounded more than a little abashed, cuffing his hand to the back of his neck and scratching it. “I've been told I kind of go off on tangents. Sorry.”

“Don't apologize,” Zayn said, patting at his pockets and pulling out his slightly crumpled box of Marlboro's. “It's cute.”

“Are you flirting with me?” the boy asked, voice going high and squeaky, before adding, “Those aren't good for you, you know.”

Zayn smirked as he pulled a cigarette out, putting it in his mouth and lighting it quickly, the familiar jolt of nicotine enough to still his nerves and warm him a little. Zayn couldn't keep doing this whole near-death situation thing, even if it meant he got to flirt with a superhero. Zayn suddenly wondered how Mary Jane and Lois Lane kept up with it. “I know. But you know what else is bad for me?”

“What?”

“Cute boys in spandex,” Zayn said, blowing out a thick stream of smoke. “Superheroes with an amazing sense of timing. Absolutely detrimental to my well-being.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” Zayn answered, blinking up through his eyelashes. “Now I've got all sort of unrealistic expectations. Giving me a damsel in distress complex and all that.”

“You strike me as the type of person who doesn't need saving.”

“You've already saved my life twice.”

“Well.” The boy seemed more than a little flustered, kept fiddling with the side of his costume and looking around as though there were other threats lurking in the alley. “It'd be a waste, otherwise, wouldn't it?”

“Every hero's got their project,” Zayn answered, voice low. “Their weakness. Take care yours isn't me, yeah?”

The boy cocked his head slightly and Zayn raised his eyebrows in response. Zayn wasn't going to say anything more – he just hoped the kid understood. Zayn had read enough comics in his day to know where this was going, and Zayn did not want to get dropped off the side of a bridge by the Green Goblin in order for the hero to learn a lesson about love. It wasn't going to be that kind of thing. Zayn refused.

“You're going to need a superhero name, though,” Zayn continued on, making note of the boy's long silence and already spinning tales to explain it. “The _Chronicle_ can't keep calling you 'San Francisco's Savior' forever. They're running out of synonyms for 'Vigilante.'”

The boy snickered and ducked his head. Zayn wondered if he was worrying his bottom lip in between his teeth, curious whether he was looking up at Zayn through hooded eyes. There was something endlessly appealing about this entire interaction, the two of them standing in the middle of an alleyway, the mask over the boy's face allowing Zayn the opportunity to shade in the details however he saw fit. The Bay fog was so hazy Zayn could hardly see down to the next street, but this boy stood out like a beacon and still managed to be a complete enigma. Zayn tried to avoid cliches – in life, in his writing, in everything, really. But Zayn had only been around this kid twice and Zayn _still_ wanted to write sonnets in his honor, put pen to paper and tell the whole world that there was still some fucking good in it. This boy was proof. Zayn had never wanted a muse, but the universe gave him a Beatrice nonetheless.

“Maybe you could help me come up with a name,” the boy said more than a little breathlessly. “I've got a Google Doc full of ideas but none of them are good. My friend said they're too punny. Probably wouldn't resonate with a focus group.”

“'Mermaid Loser' doesn't have the marketing sway you would want, yeah?”

The boy guffawed again, this laugh a shorter, enthusiastic bark. The boy slapped his gloved hands over his mouth, shoulders still shaking with mirth. Zayn could only imagine the joy dancing across his face. “ _Hey_ ,” the word coming out long and drawn out. “That's not very nice.”

Zayn smiled around his cigarette. “I never said I was.”

“I know you are,” the boy replied. “You exude it, you know? You've got a good aura.”

Zayn cocked his head to the side. “Can you see that? People's auras, I mean.”

“Nah. That _would_ be a pretty good power. Might've been more handy than like, being able to play with your bathwater growing up. My mom never did appreciate that much – splashing water all over the sink when I was doing the dishes, but it was just for fun, you know. Do you want me to call you a cab?”

Zayn shook his head. “Nah. I'm good.”

“I can get you an Uber driver. I've got the app.”

Zayn threw his cigarette to the ground and stomped out the ember with the heel of his boot. “I really think it's okay, kid.”

“Wish you wouldn't call me that.”

Zayn could imagine the boy pulling a face, nose scrunched up, red lips twisted up in a pout. Zayn was going to go home and draw until his wrist hurt, sketch out the lines of a tall, awkward superhero who rescued puppies and a graphic novelist. Zayn wondered if Niall would let him add a rendering of this kid into the story they were already writing.

“I don't need you to flag me an Uber driver, Mermaid Loser,” Zayn answered, biting his bottom lip.

The boy laughed again, groaning out another, “ _Hey_.”

Zayn smiled and began making his way back down the alley, hands thrust deep into his pockets. He was cold and wet but this kid made him feel strangely warm inside. “Be well. Hope I don't need to see you again, babe.”

Zayn was back on Market when he thought he heard a mumbled, “ _I hope I do_.” But Zayn didn't let himself turn around to check.

 

The next day, Zayn woke up with a bruise on his chin and a cold, but otherwise he was in good spirits, humming and taking his time fixing himself a cup of tea. Zayn then settled at his dining room table where he desperately attempted to fix up a few panels for work, but after a few hours of hair-pulling, Zayn found that he couldn't concentrate on the fight scene he was supposed to be illustrating. All Zayn had been able to accomplish were doodles all over his inspiration sketchbook, drawings of broad shoulders and long legs with splashes of turquoise over and over again. Frustrated and more than a little annoyed with his subconscious, Zayn scrounged up his keys and threw on his beat-up leather jacket, fighting with his front door until he was able to finally get it closed with a melodramatic crash.

Zayn wasn't sure where he was going or what he was going to do, just hoped that crisp air and sunshine would do his spirit some good. Wanted to keep his mind from straying over thoughts of a nameless superhero in a silly costume.

Zayn always thought that the cool thing about living in the Mission was its proximity to some of his favorite attractions in the city. The entire neighborhood was pedestrian and bike-friendly, which Zayn enjoyed due to his deeply ingrained aversion to cars. Zayn's feet led him trekking down Valencia, passing by couples and gaggles of friends indulging in a day of shopping. Zayn couldn't really justify stopping inside one of the stores himself, no matter how enticing the window displays seemed, so he just kept moving, hands thrust in his pocket and his fringe flopping into his eyes. Zayn thought about grabbing a bite to eat, maybe picking up an order of sexy fries from Curry Up Now, but he wasn't really hungry, either. Zayn just felt restless, figured he would know what he needed once he saw it.

Zayn journeyed up to 16th Street and then he hooked a right, thinking that maybe he could go hang out at Franklin Square and watch a soccer game if people were out on the field for a kick-around. Zayn was about a block away from the park when he saw a sign for the SF SPCA and Zayn hooked onto Florida without even thinking about it.

It probably wasn't the most adult, thought-out decision, going down to the SF SPCA Pet Adoption Center and leaving with an enthusiastic German Shepherd mix named Puppy. But Puppy was so cute and eager and friendly, and Zayn figured he could do with the extra security, seeing as he was apparently a beacon for danger these days. Zayn very quickly discovered that Puppy was afraid of the moths that always seemed to drift into the apartment, but hey. They were both doing their best.

 

Things actually settled into a comfortable enough routine as the year lunged towards summer. The agreement Niall had worked out with Image meant that Zayn was able to work from home more often than not, so Zayn was able to get Puppy housebroken and situated in his apartment fairly quickly, taking her to Dolores Park every day for exercise and a bit of socializing. Zayn also continued with the panels he was finishing for Niall. The more Niall talked about the graphic novel and the trajectory it was taking, the more excited Zayn became about this story of queer kids turned unexpected superheroes. It all seemed strangely fitting considering events of late.

Zayn interspersed this gig with some graphic design work and a few other projects that he mainly took on to pay for his overpriced shithole of an apartment. Zayn wasn't spending a lot of time out with his friends, which was a shame, but he was very productive and had managed to stay out of trouble, which was all his mother ever asked for whenever she called to check in.

And if Zayn felt a little sad about not running into San Francisco's masked savior, he didn't let himself think about it too hard. He _couldn't_.

 

It was three in the morning on a Tuesday in July and Zayn was going through one of his insomniac spells. Puppy had long passed out herself and Zayn had tried all of his usual tricks in an attempt to lull himself to sleep, including warm milk, hot tea, and a boring History Channel documentary. Nothing seemed to work.

Finally, Zayn mentally exclaimed, “Fuck it!” and decided to walk down to the garage at the bottom of his building, helmet already in hand as he made his way over to his beat-up old bike.

It was a nice night, chilly and refreshing but thankfully not particularly foggy considering Zayn's bike reflectors were broken. As a precaution, Zayn kept close to the sidewalk as he made his way up 18th Street, fingers tingling and eyes stinging from the cold.

It almost happened in slow-motion. The first thing Zayn noticed was that the car didn't have its fucking lights on. And it was one of the newer hybrid models – the type of Toyota you couldn't even hear the engine on until you were right on it. When the driver pulled out of the garage and straight into Zayn's path, it was so fast and so abrupt that Zayn didn't even have the time to properly brake, could only brace for impact. Zayn went skidding across the hood, head thumping hard against the window as his body flew. Zayn expected to fall on the other side, his mind already skittering over how expensive this hospital bill was going to be, but he never made contact.

Instead, Zayn felt moisture in the air and found himself lifted up by strong arms that kept him from colliding against the pavement.

The last thing Zayn really remembered was looking up, his vision entirely clouded by the color green.

 

Zayn blinked awake and felt as though he had just been hit by a car. It took him a few moments to remember that he actually _had_ been. And _what the fuck_ – ?

There was a cough and someone appeared in Zayn's periphery. A human shaped blur with broad shoulders, donned from head-to-toe in a turquoise costume.

Zayn shouldn't have been so surprised, but for some reason, he actually was.

“A third time?” Zayn bit out incredulously, his tongue feeling dry and heavy around the shape of his words. “ _Really_?”

“You do seem to get in trouble rather frequently,” the boy said, his own voice coming out slightly garbled through the fabric of his mask. “I would try to avoid that.”

“I've gotten into a lot of trouble frequently because of you!” Zayn retorted. “I used to never like drown or get mugged or anything! Not until I met _you_!”

The boy almost seemed to shrink underneath Zayn's harsh words, his body caving into himself. “I'm sorry.”

“No,” Zayn said, gripping at his own hair and tugging slightly at the root. “It's not – I'm not mad at you. I'm glad. I'm – thank you for saving me. Again. I really do – I like. _Fuck_. Thanks.”

It was silent for a few moments while Zayn took in his surroundings. He was in an apartment, and a fairly nice one at that. Zayn was laying on the couch in what he assumed was the living room, the material of the lounger made of leather or a very convincing synthetic, and the coffee table in front of Zayn was real wood, the heavy antique type that you would find at a hipster secondhand shop on Valencia. There were nicknacks everywhere – assorted animal figurines on the mantlepiece, a stack of worn records, books and magazines half on the coffee table and half on the floor, and finally what appeared to be a secondhand Bianchi bike and a strange banana-themed painting, both leaning against the wall separating the living room from the kitchen.

“I don't want to like, bring you any hassle,” the boy was saying as Zayn continued to survey the room. It wasn't expertly furnished, clearly, or particularly clean, but it was certainly cozy. Loved and lived-in. Zayn always preferred that to sleek lines and furniture delicately selected to fulfill an aesthetic. This felt far more authentic, like an actual peek into someone's brain.

“You haven't brought me any hassle,” Zayn replied absentmindedly. “Only saved me from hardship, really. Did you actually bring me back to your apartment?”

The boy looked around, his back straightening as his head turned around the room. Zayn could only imagine how his eyes roamed over his own space, probably taking it in from an outsider's perspective for the first time. Zayn would've killed to watch the minute flickering of his eyes – what color were they even? Russet brown? Seafoam blue? The slate gray of rolling thunder clouds? Zayn had no idea, had nothing to base his sketches on but thick shoulders and a water-soaked costume, but Zayn wanted to etch this boy into every flat surface nonetheless, dig his likeness into tree bark and wet concrete. Zayn was a sucker for details, but he could make do with mesmerizing the subtle rise and fall of this boy's chest, if nothing else.

And fuck – hadn't Zayn told himself not to think about this boy like this? Nothing good could come of it.

“I didn't know where else to take you,” the boy answered, his tone equally silky and daydreaming. “I figured – the hospital – they would ask too many questions and I'm in a dumb costume. I trained as a nurse. Knew how to bandage you up, at least. You don't feel nauseated, do you?”

Zayn felt strangely touched, but it was possible that this was because he was concussed. He didn't think he was, though. “No. I can remember my name and address and where I transferred schools in the third grade so I don't think I'm too hurt. But um. Thank you.”

“No problem,” the boy answered. “I should just. Um. Do you want something? Tea? Or maybe like hot chocolate?”

“Tea would be amazing, thanks,” Zayn replied, pressing his hands to the bandage on the back of his head. Now that Zayn was conscious of it, there was an undercurrent of pain cutting through his thoughts. The discomfort was nothing more insistent than the migraines Zayn had inherited from his mother, so Zayn could certainly deal, even if he did normally roll a joint to deal with his aches and pains.

The boy nodded and got to his feet, making his way into the kitchen and banging about for several long minutes while Zayn continued to survey his surroundings. The sleeve on top of the boy's record collection was _I Hear A Symphony_ by The Supremes. Zayn recognized it from his dad's own vinyl collection and found himself humming “Unchained Melody” before the boy returned from the kitchen, a tray in hand. It was almost absurd – this man in his saltwater colored costume, an Aquarius symbol patch covering his chest, making his way over to Zayn with two mugs, a few boxes of tea, and an assortment of cookies.

“My parents are both British,” the boy explained as he sat the tray down on top of the coffee table. “I hope you don't mind.”

“Why would I mind?” Zayn asked, propping himself up and wincing as a twinge sparked up his spine, irritation radiating from a spot low on his hip. The boy was there in a nanosecond, his gloves silky smooth where his fingers pressed against Zayn's shoulders. Zayn cursed underneath his breath as the kid helped negotiate Zayn into a comfortable upright position, Zayn groaning and feeling infinitely accomplished once he was finally seated on this strange kid's couch.

“You should probably crash here for the night,” the boy said apologetically as he darted back over to the coffee table to grab a mug for Zayn. “Maybe even call in to work, especially because we need to guarantee you aren't concussed. I imagine you'll be sore for at least twenty-four hours and I'll need to change those bandages for you.”

“Listen, kid – ”

“Please don't call me a kid,” the boy begged. “Call me anything – even _Mermaid Loser_ – but please. Just. Not that.”

“Listen, Mermaid Loser,” Zayn tried instead. “I can't stay here, especially not overnight. This whole thing – I'm deeply appreciative, I really am. You've saved my life three times now and there's no way I could ever repay you for that. But I really can't do this.”

The fabric on the boy's mask scrunched up around his nose. “Do what?”

“This whole getting to know you thing,” Zayn replied with a frustrated sigh. “The slowly falling for you thing. It's already – I've already gotten too invested. We _both_ have, clearly, yeah? Why else were you out in the Mission again last night?”

It was very quiet for several drawn out moments. Zayn wasn't even able to hear the boy's breath, normally ragged and exaggerated as it was through the fabric covering his mouth.

“I'm sure you've heard the expression 'two halves of a whole,'” the boy mumbled, his voice muffled and difficult to understand. He was still holding Zayn's mug of tea, steam rising from it in thin wisps. “What if it isn't just an expression? What if it's an actual _thing_?”

“I'm not entertaining this,” Zayn scoffed, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “You saving my life – yeah, if this were _Harry Potter_ , I would at the very least be tied to you in the form of a life debt. But this isn't a book, this isn't a graphic novel, _this is real life_ – ”

“You know, for a writer you sure are lacking in imagination,” the boy interrupted.

Zayn felt as though he had been slapped across the face. “I'm not a killjoy, I'm a realist. Pragmatist.” Then Zayn frowned, looking up at the kid in his ridiculous costume. “And how do you know I'm a writer?

“What?” the boy asked innocently. “And no, you're not being pragmatic. You're letting your fear cloud everything else up. There's no reason to be afraid.”

“Of course there's plenty of reasons to be afraid! Have you ever heard of Gwen Stacy? Alexandra DeWitt? Sue Dibny? You could make the argument for Jean Grey, too!”

“Are you talking about comic books?” the boy asked with a tilt of his head. “How do you know all of this stuff?”

“How do you _not_?” Zayn retorted. He shook his head violently and then moaned at the sharp jolt of pain that radiated outward from his hip again. When Zayn spoke once more, his voice was infinitely softer and more somber. “ _Listen_. Everyone knows that heroes don't get to fall in love. It's like the only given in superhero story arcs. I'm just thinking about both of us, yeah? If we – if there's really something here, then I immediately become a weakness for you.”

The boy set Zayn's mug back on the tray and took a long breath, cuffing his hand on the back of his neck and scratching at the fabric there. “You act like there's some sort of huge villain out there, lurking in the background, just waiting for his moment in the sun. There's nothing to worry about. Like, if we wanna hang out – be friends or like, maybe more than friends – there's nobody out there that's gonna be able to keep us from doing that.”

“You never know,” Zayn replied darkly. “Peter Parker's actions essentially created the circumstances that allowed the Green Goblin to flourish. And don't even get me started on the Joker – ”

“Are you always this paranoid?” The boy didn't ask it mockingly at all, his tone genuine and curious, as if he really wanted to get to know Zayn. And that was the whole problem. This pull – this _attraction_ between them that made them want to pan through each other's stories. Zayn wasn't paranoid. He just wanted what was best for both of them. And this – this wasn't it.

“Look,” Zayn said, licking over his lips. “I'm glad you're around – even if it is also a little creepy that you've been apparently watching me or something. But I don't want this to devolve into the realm of triteness.”

“Have you looked at yourself?” the boy asked breathlessly, shifting forward and leaning in closer, Zayn almost feeling the warmth of his body heat. Zayn wanted to know how his eyes shone, how the wonder and awe that colored his tone similarly painted his face. Were his cheeks pink? Was he ghosting his tongue over his own lips as his breathing shifted and shuddered? “There's nothing hackneyed about you. I don't know how many books you've read, how many comics you've devoured. But we'll chart our own course, yeah? Because you can _feel_ it, right?”

Zayn didn't want to break this kid's heart, as fragile a thing as Zayn was sure it was, but he did not want to acknowledge the magnetism between them either. The kid might've been sitting on the fire escape across the street from Zayn's apartment night after night, Zayn didn't know, couldn't know. But Zayn knew how often this unnamed hero darted across his own dreams, how frequently he had to force himself to focus and not spend hours mentally tracing broad shoulders and strong arms. Zayn felt stuck, wished that things were easier. As drawn as Zayn had always been to the mediums of comics and graphic novels, he'd never gone chasing after heroes. Zayn just wanted a steady paycheck, a roof over his head, and a few empty sketchbooks, wanted to create someone strong and tenacious within his own character. But instead he got a superhero without a name. A muse.

Maybe something more. If Zayn was willing to risk it.

The boy was hooking his fingers underneath the stretchy fabric of his mask before Zayn even realized what he was doing. A hot spike of fear spread through Zayn's extremities, his brain screaming out in belligerent protest, but a buzz of calm cut through the dismay. Zayn wasn't even sure where it was coming from, this humming tranquility, this sense of rightness, but Zayn chased it and went with it, even leaning forward to help the boy pull his mask off over what appeared to be tangles of unruly brown hair. When his mask was removed, the boy just sat in front of Zayn, worrying his bottom lip between his front two teeth and watching Zayn expectantly.

He _was_ a kid, that much was for sure. Definitely not anything older than twenty-one or twenty-two, and that was if Zayn was being generous. A white boy, pale, with long, curly chestnut brown locks that fell to his shoulders but were currently knotted, sweaty and greasy from hours underneath a mask. The boy's face was more than pleasant to look at, something truly remarkable in the arrangement of his features. His eyes were spaced rather far apart, but they were green green green, somewhere between apple and spring bud, with flecks of swirling yellows, cool blues, and mossy browns. He also had a long, fairly prominent nose, a thin, pink mouth, although his bottom lip was fairly plump the more Zayn let his eyes wander over it, and a nice, sturdy jaw. On the superhero spectrum, the boy was more on the side of Peter Parker than Clark Kent, but Zayn found that he liked it. Liked that this boy had a smattering of moles across his cheeks, but the sort that you only noticed if you looked at him very closely. Liked that the boy's hair was a fucking bird's nest and that he was clearly uncertain how to style it. And Zayn really liked the slow smile that spread across the boy's face, the sort of charming, shit-eating grin that Zayn had always tried his best to avoid generating on pretty guys' faces.

“Do you go around taking your mask off in front of every boy you meet?” Zayn was aiming for teasing but he was sure he missed it by at least a mile. This moment felt huge. Zayn's hand had been forced, but he found that he didn't really mind, definitely didn't regret it. And there was no going back now.

The boy smiled and a dimple appeared in the apple of his cheek. Zayn wanted to bury his thumb there and press against the boy's grin. “No. Just for the ones who matter. I'm Harry.”

Zayn's lips quirked upward before he could help himself. Harry, the superhero without an alias. Just Harry. “Hello, Harry. I'm Zayn.”

“Zayn,” the boy repeated. And Zayn could feel his earlier hero worship go gooey and morph, turning into something else, a happiness that hardened and crystallized when Harry removed his gloves and pressed tentative fingers against the slope of Zayn's jaw.

 

Zayn fell asleep in Harry's bed. Harry insisted that Zayn take the mattress, saying that he was more than happy to kip on the couch, and, ever the gentleman, tucked Zayn in and did little more than smile at Zayn before wishing him a good night.

When Zayn woke up the next morning, it was to the warm wafting smell of waffles and fried eggs. Zayn's head still ached, the familiar twinges of a migraine firmly settled behind his eyes, but he smiled when Harry came in, arms occupied with the same tray from the night before, although this time it was completely laden down with food – not only the waffles and eggs Zayn had already detected, but also a fruit salad and a solitary gardenia, the stem of which was tucked into a tall glass.

Zayn wondered if Harry just liked gardenias or if he was up to snuff with his Victorian floriography. Zayn had spent enough time sketching flowers and working at a nursery during college to know that gardenias represented secret love and admiration. But maybe it was all a coincidence.

Harry looked completely different now that he was out of his superhero Spandex. In the sloping morning light he seemed decidedly normal, wearing only a navy blue oversized sweater and tight black boxers. If Zayn had difficulty drawing his eyes away from Harry in that stupid costume, he hardly knew what he would call his inability to look away now. Harry was just lithe and long-limbed, all broad shoulders and lean, muscular thighs, his skin milky white, a purplish bruise high on his thigh standing out in sharp relief. Harry set the tray in front of Zayn, who smiled sleepily, and Harry went to settle down next to Zayn's side before seemingly thinking better of it and springing up, hovering over the edge of the bed awkwardly. Zayn rolled his eyes and made a quiet sound of protest before grasping Harry's wrist and pulling him over to his side with a murmured, “It's your bed, after all.”

“Didn't know what you wanted,” Harry said, licking over his lips nervously and gesturing at the tray sitting over Zayn's lap. “Like, wasn't sure if you would want lots of protein, or if you had a sweeter tooth, or if you were just a fruit sort of guy, so. Brought you everything.”

“Didn't have to do all that.”

Harry turned to Zayn, his face painfully honest as he frowned. “But I wanted to.”

Something inside of Zayn went completely soft, and when he first kissed Harry, it was over waffles and eggs and squares of fruit, Harry's lips tasting of honey and blueberry jam.

Zayn pulled away first and Harry's eyes were still closed, but fluttering like he was waiting for Zayn to kiss him again. Like it was all he wanted.

Zayn was absolutely fucked, so he leaned in for another press of lips. And another.

 

Nothing happened, even though Zayn called into work twice and Harry programmed his name and number into Zayn's phone using a lot of heart emojis. Zayn did ask Harry if he would want to come to dinner with him sometime, said that Harry could pick the time and the place and Zayn would pay. Zayn tried not to think how awful an idea this whole dating a superhero thing would probably end up being, but he skipped down all of the stairs of Harry's Chinatown apartment nonetheless, a ridiculous smile affixed to his face the entire bus ride home.

 

Contrary to what seemed to be popular belief, Zayn considered himself to be a monogamist. Sure, he had had a few fuck-ups, but if he was _really_ into someone, he was committed. Faithful, doting, even. But seeing that Zayn had a general distrust of the majority of the population, he hadn't exactly been in a whole lot of relationships. There was Rebecca in high school, then bright-eyed Perrie all during college, but after their engagement went up in flames, Zayn had essentially given up on the whole dating scene. He used Grindr whenever he felt particularly hard up and some of the guys on there had been nice, but there hadn't been anyone of substance in at least two years.

This thing with Harry, though – it just felt easy. Natural, even. And it shouldn't have been surprising, not with how fast they had already seemed to slip into everything, but Zayn was still caught off guard. Even during their first date, which was really just heading to a movie at the Metreon and spending the majority of it grinning at each other instead of watching the film. And even more during their second, when Harry invited Zayn to lunch at Umami Burger, the two of them ordering far more truffle fries than either could finish. And then again during their third date, when Harry asked Zayn to pick the location for once, and Zayn just asked Harry if he wanted to come with him to walk Puppy in Dolores Park. They spent about an hour watching Puppy chase after pigeons, licking their ice cream cones and then their fingers, and it felt like one of those montage scenes in a romantic comedy with Harry's bedroom eyes and the September sunshine.

Zayn and Harry walked back to Zayn's apartment not quite hand-in-hand, but they bumped shoulders and smiled fondly at each other the whole way back, Puppy still yapping happily on her leash in front of them. They made the trek up to Zayn's space, the door getting stuck in its hinges until Harry leaned into it minutely, the stupid thing finally groaning and giving in against the press of his weight. Zayn tried not to stare and tried even harder not to jump Harry right there in the hallway. He didn't think he would ever get used to seeing _that_ in action.

Zayn let Puppy off her leash and she immediately took off and darted through to the bedroom. Zayn watched her go with a shake of his head before making his way to the couch, standing in front of it and spreading his arms. “So this is my apartment,” Zayn said more than a little self-deprecatingly. “Little hole in a wall, but it's _my_ hole in a wall, at least.”

“It's gorgeous,” Harry replied, eyes roaming over the walls, his gaze pausing on every print Zayn had hung up. Zayn tried not to squirm as Harry remained quiet, desperately hoping that Harry would approve of all of his stylistic choices, as ridiculous as that sounded. “Are these all – this is all your art?”

“Yeah, some of the work I've done at Image Comics,” Zayn said, falling back against the couch and grabbing the Playstation controller off his Starbucks cup-laden coffee table. He probably should have cleaned up before meeting with Harry earlier, but he hadn't expected for Harry to smile and nod when Zayn impulsively asked if Harry wanted to come up to the apartment. “I've got a few gifts from my friends, as well, but those are mostly in the bedroom.”

Harry whistled low under his breath. “You're really fucking talented, you know.”

Zayn fiddled some more with his Playstation, pulling up Netflix and scrolling through his queue. “Not really. I was one of the more mediocre artists in my class. But I work well under pressure and can bang things out quickly without a lot of second guessing, which is all you really need to succeed in the graphic arts.”

“I wish you wouldn't say that,” Harry answered with a frown. He finally came to sit next to Zayn but his eyes remained trained on one of Zayn's prints, several panels from Zayn's senior project that his mother had insisted upon framing as a graduation present. Zayn could hardly look at the panels without picking up on all of the tiny amateurish errors – a line he could've cleaned up better, call-out boxes he would re-arrange now for a stronger emotional impact – but Zayn didn't mind watching Harry take it in. The way Harry's eyes swept over the piece, his cheeks pink and flushed. Harry had the sort of expressive face that made Zayn itch for his sketchpad, but to be fair, Zayn would've loved to try his hand at committing Harry's countenance in every medium. Getting his fingers black with charcoal, taking his Intuous pen and losing himself in shading Harry's eyes. Zayn still couldn't decide whether they were apple or spring bud or something else entirely.

“Wouldn't say what?” Zayn finally responded, jolting himself out of his ruminations once he realized that Harry had turned to him expectantly. Zayn felt heat rush to his cheeks, sure that he had been completely obvious in his attempt to memorize Harry's almost unusual beauty.

“Wouldn't say that you're mediocre,” Harry quipped. “Because you're not. You're the most extraordinary person I've ever met.”

Zayn scoffed. “You're still getting to know me, Haz. And you're a superhero, so don't be surprised that I'm a little skeptical about the veracity of that statement.”

“Have you ever listened to yourself talk?” Harry grinned. “You're like a walking thesaurus.”

Zayn frowned. “Sorry.”

“No! _No_ , it's a good thing. It's not like you sound pretentious or put-on at all. You're just so smart and kind and you have the cutest puppy named Puppy and your face literally looks like something Michelangelo would've painted. And then there's me and I'm just a Mermaid Loser.”

Zayn grinned and kicked out at Harry's foot where he had rested it against Zayn's coffee table. “You're not _just_ a Mermaid Loser. You're smart and kind and you might not have a dog but I spent days drawing your shoulders over and over again and that was before I even knew your name.”

“Yeah?”

Zayn didn't know why he blurted it out, but it obviously wasn't untrue. “Yeah.”

Harry's lips curved upwards and he sunk further into the couch, lying his head on top of Zayn's shoulder, his curls tickling Zayn's ears. Harry was just so warm, almost like a mobile heater, and Zayn wrapped his arms around Harry's waist without even thinking about it, just knew that he needed to bask in this sunshine.

Like everything else, it just felt right. The easiest and simplest thing to do, like taking in a deep breath on a summer day, like riding your bike full speed down an empty street.

“So what's your origin story?” Zayn asked, skipping his fingers over a sliver of Harry's skin. Zayn had been curious for a while but hadn't felt like it was right to ask. Zayn honestly wasn't even sure what the protocol was for this sort of thing, what questions are in-bounds and which aren't when you're dating the city's superhero savior.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, where did your powers come from? What brings you to San Francisco? What made you decide to put on a costume and go rescuing people and kitties alike?”

Harry shrugged, pouting up a little at Zayn through the spread of his eyelashes. “Dunno, really.”

“Didn't fall into a vat of radioactive water then? Wasn't attacked by mutated dolphins?”

Harry barked out a laugh, biting at his bottom lip as he shook his head. “No, nothing that traumatic. I just – I was always like this, I suppose. Like when I was little and my mom would put me in the bath, I would make teddy bears out of the water and play with them. My parents always encouraged me, tried to create a safe environment for me to feel my powers out, but it wasn't like I could be open with them, either. So that was that. And then when it was time to go to college, I just knew I had to be somewhere on the coast. It came down to a choice between San Francisco and Miami, and I dunno, figured that as a gay boy the Bay Area might be a little more welcoming. Plus my parents are still in Portland, so I just went with that. And here I am.”

“You went to school here?”

“Yeah. Well, Holy Names University and then SMU. Nursing, remember?”

Zayn hummed, his fingertips dipping underneath the top of Harry's jeans. Harry's breathing hitched and Zayn grinned to himself. “When did you move to San Francisco then?”

“At the beginning of the year, right before I decided I didn't want to be a nurse anymore. I felt like – I dunno. There are so many ways you can save lives, you know? But I still wanted to make a difference. Wanted to see it more concretely, I guess.”

Zayn pursed his lips and began carding his fingers through Harry's hair. The strands were soft but a little oily, not that Zayn cared. “So you just like patched up a costume and decided to see what was out there?”

Harry shrugged, turning his face up to look at Zayn, his little puffs of breath sending shivers up Zayn's side. “More or less. I'd done a little tech and costume design stuff in high school so I knew the basics of how to make a costume. So I made one and then I just kind of went to hang out. It's always good to befriend an old lady or a young kid in the neighborhood, I've found. They'll call me if something bad is happening. Because I do work, you know. I'm not like Batman – I can't just hang around watching the city all day.”

“So what do you do? Like, what's your job?”

“I work at the Burberry shop downtown.”

Zayn grinned, his fingernails grazing against Harry's scalp. “You would, posh boy like yourself. You should be a model, really.”

Harry shook his head and Zayn let his hand slip down to cup at Harry's neck. The skin there was soft and hot and Zayn brushed his fingers against the thinner wisps of hair while Harry's cheeks bloomed. Harry was still smiling at Zayn but he seemed nervous, almost like he was steeling himself up for something when he leaned in and kissed Zayn.

It wasn't like Harry hadn't initiated any physical contact yet. They had kissed multiple times on the first two dates, but those were always soft presses of skin, reassurances that they were here and still interested. This kiss wasn't like that. It very quickly became something hot and desperate, open-mouthed and needy, Zayn wrapping his hands around the side of Harry's face as he licked into Harry's mouth, nipping at Harry's bottom lip and sucking down Harry's moans. Less about finesse and trying to show off and more about wanting to learn every detail about each other, becoming intimately acquainted with a swirl of tongue and an eager pant. Harry tasted like the weird cucumber flavored ice cream he had been eating earlier and then like spit and then like nothing, his hands clawing at Zayn's waist and digging half-crescents into Zayn's skin.

Harry pushed Zayn onto his back so that they were both lying length-wise down the couch, Harry's quiet strength sending slow tendrils of arousal down Zayn's spine. Zayn almost felt like he was underwater when he was kissing Harry, truly, everything slow and wet, a current of tranquility dulling his otherwise rowdy thoughts. And Zayn did little more than mewl when Harry first brushed his hand against the growing bulge in Zayn's jeans, Harry's eyes going dark and oceanic at the sound.

They undressed with the unhurried pace of newlyweds, as though they had somehow known each other for so much longer and were desperately familiar with each other, absolutely no rush in what they were doing. Zayn gaped at every new inch of pale, creamy skin, marveling over all of Harry's ridiculous tattoos and the soft flesh around Harry's waist, everything about Harry seeming like the best sort of contradiction. And Harry took the same level of care in dismantling Zayn, seemingly restraining himself from ripping off clothing and losing buttons. He ran curious hands over Zayn's chest piece and then rasped his knuckles against the heart on Zayn's hip before skittering anxious fingers to Zayn's jeans, popping open each button as though he were a particularly meticulous child on Christmas Day.

They both seemed overwhelmed by the time they were each nude and sitting on top of Zayn's secondhand couch, Puppy still preoccupied in the other room. Zayn just couldn't get over Harry's beauty, unconventional and weird as he was. Long, muscular, with a thick uncut cock that was already bubbling at the tip. Zayn wasn't surprised though. Of course the Mermaid Loser would get really wet.

For someone who had a million and one reasons not to get involved with a superhero, Zayn sure did not waste any time laying Harry back against the couch cushions and introducing Harry's cock to his mouth. Zayn licked at the stream of precome before sliding his tongue along the width, sucking what Zayn could into his mouth. Harry tasted like salt and sweat and Bay water and boy, none of which was particularly surprising, but the mixture of which, combined with Harry's unabashed groans, was almost intoxicating. Zayn didn't normally think of himself as the type to move too fast, but as he swallowed around Harry's length, he let his eyes slip closed and thought about what all of this meant. The fact that he was sucking off a boy who studied as a nurse in order to help people but somehow ended up as a Burberry salesperson and superhero. It was all so strange, but Zayn couldn't imagine things being any other way.

Zayn pulled off when Harry's noises began to approach desperate levels, his balls drawing up closer and closer to his body as he moaned. Zayn jacked him slow, teasing little motions interspersed with cruel flicks of his wrist, and waited for Harry to calm down, for his chest to rise and fall more evenly. “What do you want?” Zayn asked, licking over his lips and smirking when Harry whined, toes curling where they brushed against Zayn's thighs. “Do you want to come in my mouth?”

“I want you to fuck me, please,” Harry said, excruciatingly polite. Ever the gentleman.

“Do you get as wet in your ass as your cock does, Mermaid Loser?” Zayn asked teasingly, sucking the index finger of his free hand into his mouth and bringing it to circle teasingly at Harry's rim. Harry moaned and shook his head, but his body still put up little resistance when Zayn pressed against Harry's hole, sinking his finger in a few centimeters. Zayn pulled his finger out and quirked an eyebrow at Harry, who cursed underneath his breath and banged his head against the couch cushions.

Zayn stood and quickly made his way into his bedroom to grab condoms and lube. Puppy sprung up at the sight of him, yapping and running circles around Zayn's ankles, and Zayn felt like an awful person when he closed the door behind him, locking the dog inside. “Sorry, Puppy,” Zayn mumbled before making his way back over to the couch, where Harry was now unabashedly fucking into his own hand. “Stop,” Zayn commanded and Harry immediately stilled, face crumpled as though he were a child who got caught with crumbs around his mouth from digging around the cookie jar. Zayn dumped his things onto the couch before popping open the bottle of lube, squirting a generous amount onto his fingers and pressing his index finger into Harry again. Harry made a small hiccuping sound, spreading his legs wider, and Zayn ran soothing circles over Harry's hips and thighs, murmuring nonsense he would probably be embarrassed about later while Harry's eyes went unfocused with pleasure.

Zayn could've probably gotten off of just this, just watching as Harry fucked himself on Zayn's fingers. Because Harry's body was truly a piece of art, so responsive and so eager, thighs trembling, neck veins straining, his chest rising and falling in the best natural rhythm the world had ever created. Zayn was near delirious with lust when he finally tore the condom open and rolled it over himself, slicking himself with so much lube that he was dripping onto the couch.

When Zayn pushed in, Harry moaned, drawn out and unrepentant, his legs immediately coming to wrap around Zayn's waist, the back of his feet pushing against Zayn's ass like he was drawing Zayn further in. Everything about Harry was hot and wet and Zayn nearly came when he was all the way inside, balls slapping against Harry's backside as Harry reached up and placed his hands on either side of Zayn's face, bringing him down for a kiss. Zayn kept his strokes slow and measured, the twist of his hips sending Harry into a tizzy, his cock leaking all over his tummy even as he kept his hands on Zayn's face. They were panting into each other's mouths, eyes blown wide, Harry muttering promises against Zayn's lips.

Harry came without a hand on him, his eyes squeezing shut as he spurted hot all over both of them. Zayn continued to fuck him through it, even as Harry's eyes flew open with his sensitivity and his legs slowly fell from Zayn's waist. Zayn buried his face into the crook of Harry's neck and bit down as his orgasm overtook him, a slow pulsing wave as opposed to the quick, wicked spread of pleasure that he normally experienced. When he pulled out, Harry was regarding him fondly, his eyes back to the beautiful green Zayn had yet to categorize.

“I think I love you, you know,” Harry said conversationally as Zayn tied off the condom and got up to throw it away. “I know it's really early to say that, but I figured I should let you know.”

Zayn just smiled as he came to sit back down, pulling Harry into his chest and stroking the soft skin of his shoulder.

 

When they got up to make their way to Zayn's bed, Harry swayed a bit on his feet, but Zayn caught him with a sure hand and a chuckle. Zayn didn't think anything of it as he pulled Harry next to him on the mattress, but maybe he should've.

 

The next day, Zayn had plans to meet up with Louis at some overpriced restaurant downtown. Muni decided to be an uncooperative shit, as usual, so Zayn got off around Civic Center and just walked the rest of the way to the restaurant, arriving bathed in sweat and sure that Louis would already be there and fully prepared to chew Zayn out for his tardiness. Louis wasn't, luckily enough, so Zayn ducked back outside and lit a cigarette in a nearby alleyway, smiling to himself as he thought about Harry.

By the time Louis actually got there, Zayn was down to the filter and feeling strangely optimistic about life. It was nice waking up to somebody and it was nicer fucking Harry deep and slow first thing in the morning, languidly like they didn't have anywhere to go or anything to do. Zayn couldn't remember the last time he had ever been so happy to have someone spend the night. It was possible that he'd never been.

Louis pulled Zayn into a hug before they were shown to their table outside. It was a surprisingly nice day and the restaurant had tapas and beer and Zayn just felt extraordinarily content and more talkative than he normally was. Louis was similarly in a good mood – had been dating that Liam guy for months now and Louis admitted, grinning wide, that things were getting serious. Talking about weddings and kids and forever kind of serious.

“I'm happy for you, you know,” Zayn said as he sipped on the glass of Lindemans Framboise that Louis had recommended. “You deserve a good guy like Liam.”

Louis rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. “I don't deserve him. I'm only going to corrupt him. But enough about me! We've talked about Liam for ages. Who have you been fucking behind my back? Every time I ask you what you're up to you always say you're out with some guy.”

Zayn shrugged, a coy smile on his face. “His name is Harry.”

“Did you meet him on Grindr?”

“Do I ever meet anyone of substance on Grindr?”

Louis tipped his own beer in acknowledgment and laughed. “Okay, good point. Where'd you meet him then? Work?”

“Um, no,” Zayn replied. “You could probably guess though. But it's like. Like a secret.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean – a secret? He's not like _married_ or something, is he?”

“Oh, God no,” Zayn protested before frowning. “Or at least I'm pretty sure he's not.”

“Then why would it be a – ?”

“Louis,” Zayn interrupted. “Just like – think about it? Think about what you had said to me a few months ago about like. That guy? After the incident on your yacht?”

Louis stared at Zayn for several long minutes, nose scrunched up as he regarded Zayn as though he was the one being belligerent for once. Zayn wasn't used to being on the receiving end of such looks. When Louis finally got it, his entire countenance lit up, blue eyes wide and sparkly.

“You mean that – ”

“Louis!” Zayn hissed. “What did I _just_ say about it being a secret?”

Louis' cheeks and ears flushed scarlet and he looked down at his hands, eerily resembling a child who had been scolded by a parent. “Sorry. But like _really_ – ?”

“Yes, really,” Zayn said. “We had a talk, or whatever. And he's so nice. I really like him, Lou.”

“Of course you like him,” Louis scoffed. “He saved you from drowning and you guys are clearly soul mates. That's like standard for when a good-looking superhero saves an even better-looking guy from a near-death experience.”

Zayn frowned at Louis before deciding he would just ignore Louis entirely. “I just like – how does all of this _work_? It's all been so nice and amazing so far but shit's bound to hit the fan eventually, right?”

Louis shrugged. “You're over-thinking it, bro.”

“But – ”

“Bad shit always happens in relationships, whether you're dating a superhero or not,” Louis said, a surprisingly dark glare traveling across his face. “You don't need an arch-nemesis to dangle you off the side of a bridge in order for things to get fucked up. So just take it day-by-day, yeah?”

Zayn blinked at Louis. Zayn always kind of forgot that Louis could give tremendously good advice when he wanted to. “Yeah. Okay. You're right.”

“'Course I am!” Louis said brightly. “I'm always right!”

Zayn rolled his eyes, smiling fondly at Louis, and returned to his tapas.

 

Time seemed to speed by with Harry at Zayn's side. Green leaves turned burnt sienna and then fell off the trees entirely, and Harry started spending the night at Zayn's apartment more often than not. Zayn would work on finishing touches for Niall's graphic novel during the day, drawing in coffee shops or heading out just to get a cup of Blue Bottle, or if it was raining, he spent his work hours at the small table in his kitchen, dedicating time to depicting the now familiar characters. Both he and Puppy would wait patiently for Harry to come over, whether from a day of dissuading petty crime or simply lounging around at Burberry, and once he arrived, pink-cheeked and energetic, they would go for a walk around the neighborhood with Puppy on her leash, happily barking at pigeons. It was ridiculously domestic, Harry's fingers firmly entwined with Zayn's own, but Zayn found he didn't mind. Not at all.

It was December and nearly Christmas in a blink of an eye. Harry and Zayn both had plans to go home for the holidays. Zayn was only headed down the Peninsula, but Harry was taking a plane all the way to Portland to spend time with his mom and step-dad. But before Zayn could even start thinking about getting all soppy and lovesick in Harry's absence, Zayn had to deal with Louis' annual holiday bash.

Louis always threw a huge birthday party in the days around Christmas Eve and this year he encouraged Zayn to bring his “superhero boyfriend.” Zayn didn't really want to go this time around – still wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to introduce his friends to Harry and was actually a little paranoid that this introduction was somehow going to jinx the relationship before it really even started – but Harry was eager to meet Zayn's friends and apparently loved wearing ugly sweaters to holiday parties. When Harry came over after his shift at Burberry, Zayn's resolve to go out shrunk even further. Harry quite simply didn't look all that healthy. He was warm and bundled up in a thick, black coat and a forest green scarf, but his nosy was runny and Zayn knew that his back had been bothering him lately, too.

“We can just stay in,” Zayn cajoled, running his hands through Harry's hair and pulling him in close, even though he knew cuddling up to Harry like this meant he could catch cold, too. “Order some soup, watch a few movies on Netflix. Just lemme take care of you.”  
“Your Louis will be disappointed if we miss his party,” Harry said, smiling soft at Zayn before running his fingers around the shape of Zayn's smile. “And I really want to meet your friends. It's just a little cold. I'll be fine.”

It didn't seem like just a little cold. Zayn was concerned Harry wasn't taking care of himself in between hanging out at the apartment, working longer shifts at Burberry, and insisting on fighting crime in that thinly lined costume. “Are you sure?”

Harry nodded, burying his head in the crook of Zayn's shoulder. “Yeah. So like, just get ready. Okay?”

Zayn sighed before nodding as well, and he jumped in the shower and pulled on a fairly basic outfit of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and this oversized jacket that Harry had bought for him, before calling an Uber driver to take them to a bar near Louis' apartment in the Marina.

Growing up, Zayn didn't really know rich people. Zayn came from a decidedly working class household – his mother worked at the neighborhood elementary school and his father owned an auto repair shop. Louis was the first person Zayn met when he ended up at the Academy of Art, and he was wealthy and flashy in a way Zayn had never encountered, willing to buy Zayn lunch or take him out for drinks, offering Zayn rides in whatever overpriced car he was driving at the moment. Louis was sitting on a nice sized inheritance and his mother's third husband was some hot-shot CEO, so Louis was given the leeway to “follow his dreams and pursue that ridiculous art degree.” After graduation, he seemed content to just coast his way through life, taking on random marketing jobs every so often but mostly spending his free time volunteering at EA Games.

Zayn couldn't entirely understand Louis' life, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to anyway.

The party was already in full-swing by the time Zayn and Harry entered the bar. Louis had rented out the entire English-style pub, Zayn supposed the only reason being because he could, and there was a truly obscene amount of mistletoe, hanging low underneath every door frame. Some sports game was on the television, blaring loud, and people were everywhere, cradling pints of beer and cheering at the tiny figures on TV. Zayn clutched Harry's hand and sighed at the sudden onslaught of noise, holding Harry close as Zayn made his way around looking for Louis.

Zayn found Louis in the back of the bar in a section Zayn assumed was normally reserved for VIP, fucked out of his mind and hanging off of Liam's arm. Zayn still didn't really know Liam all that well, had never had a real one-on-one conversation with him, but Zayn figured he liked Liam well enough. Liam was certainly taking being used as a human cane in stride, smiling at Louis fondly and helping him remain somewhat upright. They looked like some sort of warped holiday card, actually, both of them dressed up in ugly Christmas sweaters and wearing the smitten expressions of a lovebird couple. It was weirdly and disgustingly cute.

Zayn turned to Harry and raised his eyebrows. Harry grinned, dimples in full effect, and squeezed Zayn's hand reassuringly. Zayn took a deep breath before leading Harry right over to Louis, whose face actually perked up the moment he realized Zayn was in the same room.

“Zayn!” Louis exclaimed, obnoxiously chipper and unbelievably drunk. He let go of Liam's arm to bound over, nearly knocking Zayn clean into Harry in the process. Harry righted both of them easily, his quiet strength evident even then, but Louis hardly spared Harry a glance, instead latched himself onto Zayn's neck and dug his teeth into the column of Zayn's neck.

“Lou, gross,” Zayn protested as he pushed a cackling Louis into Liam's waiting arms. Liam was looking onto the scene in front of him with faint alarm, his brows furrowed, but Louis turned and pecked a sloppy kiss against Liam's lips as an apology. This was surprisingly enough to mollify Liam as his face smoothed out and he regained his earlier doting expression. Louis returned to swinging off of Liam's arm and Zayn sighed, pulling Harry to stand right at his side. “Lou,” Zayn said, attempting to regain Louis' attention. “Louis. Lou. _Lewis_!”

Louis spun back around, pouting at Zayn with unfocused eyes. “What?”

“This is the guy I was telling you about, remember?” Zayn said, smiling at Harry while Harry fidgeted at his side. “His name's Harry. Harry Styles.”

Louis frowned for a moment but when he smiled again, it was the sly, mischievous grin that always made Zayn reconsider his life and all of his choices. “Ahh, you mean _this_ is the super – ”

“Louis!” Zayn interrupted, glancing quickly between Louis, who had thrown his hands over his mouth and was looking chastised, and Harry, whose green eyes currently resembled wide plate saucers.

“Um, I'm going to go to the bathroom, I think,” Harry mumbled, disentangling his hands from Zayn's. “It was nice meeting you, Louis. And it was nice seeing you, Liam.” And then Harry bolted, running his hands through his hair as he made his way across the bar.

Zayn frowned as he turned back to Louis and Liam, opening his mouth and shutting it in his confusion. Louis still had his hands clutched over his face, but Liam looked about as shell shocked as Harry did, shuffling nervously against Louis, his normally soft, friendly brown eyes blown wide in shock.

“You never mentioned that Zayn's boyfriend was _Harry Styles_ , Lou,” Liam said softly.

“Well, I didn't know, did I?” Louis countered, swaying a little dangerously. “Zayn never said his full name.”

“What do you mean?” Zayn demanded. “What's all this? You know Harry, Liam?”

“'Course I do,” Liam answered. “We were best friends in high school.”

“How come you've never brought him 'round, all this time that you've been dating Louis?” Zayn asked. “I've only ever seen you with Tom and Andy.”

“I didn't even know he was in California,” Liam replied a little distantly. “We used to be good friends. We haven't talked since I was sixteen, I guess.”

Zayn nodded and Liam shrugged a little apologetically, effectively closing off the entire line of conversation. That was fine. Zayn understood not wanting to talk about certain things.

“I'm gonna go – ” Zayn started, gesturing behind himself. Liam nodded and clutched Louis closer, and Zayn sighed before making his way back through the bar.

By the time Zayn finally found the bathroom, Harry was standing stoically in front of the mirror. It was hard to see with the bar's dim mood lighting, but up close Zayn could still tell that Harry did not look particularly healthy. His skin was paler than usual, and there were faint dark circles underneath his eyes. Zayn went to stand behind Harry and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, lifting a strand of hair out of the way in order to place a soft kiss against the length of Harry's neck.

“I'm sorry,” Zayn murmured, his lips catching against Harry's skin. Harry smelled like outside and the cold ocean, like youth and promise and hope. “I – I shouldn't have talked to Louis about – all of that. About you. For some reason I thought he could keep his big mouth shut.”

“I know,” Harry said, attempting one of his big smiles but it came out wan and distorted. Zayn frowned at their reflection in the mirror, his grip against Harry's waist tightening instinctively. Harry hissed and Zayn's glare deepened, his fingers dipping underneath the hem of Harry's shirt. There, discoloring the smooth, soft skin of Harry's hips, was a large, painful-looking bruise, a glowering purple that faded into sickly green.

“What happened?” Zayn demanded, pulling his fingers away from Harry. “Did you get into a fight – ?”

“I just fell,” Harry said defensively, refusing to meet Zayn's eyes. “It's nothing.”

Zayn knew Harry was lying, could almost feel it like a low, unpleasant buzz underneath his own fingertips. “Harry, _please_ – ”

“Zayn, it's really nothing,” Harry said, and this time it felt more like a plea than a statement. “Don't worry about me. I'm fine.”

Zayn brought his hands to the side of Harry's face and pulled him in for a soft kiss, resting their foreheads together so that Harry could feel Zayn's hesitant nod. Harry smiled, nuzzling against Zayn's cheek, and then linked their fingers together, dragging Zayn back out to enjoy the party.

 

Zayn didn't comment on the bruise again, not even when they were in Harry's bed later that night, when the discoloration seemed to have grown larger and more menacing under the stark moonlight.

 

Zayn and Harry made plans to hang out in Zayn's apartment the minute he got back to the Bay, which ended up being the Sunday before New Years. Harry said that when he was back home in Portland, he missed running his evening “errands” of petting dogs and defending kids from bullies at the park. Zayn didn't know what it was like to miss being a superhero, but he did know what it was like to miss Harry, and maybe that was close enough.

Zayn found a recipe online for what the author called foolproof lasagna and already had it in the oven by the time Harry arrived from the airport, wearing his favorite black jeans and an oversized sweater, smelling like boy and outside and sweat. Zayn wanted to devour him, pressed Harry up against the counter and hardly let him drag in his luggage and get a “Hello” out before he was sinking to his knees and pulling Harry's cock out of his denim.

It was quick and dirty and Harry wasn't even hard when Zayn started. But Zayn didn't care, just wanted to make Harry feel good for all of the hope and sunshine he brought into this shitty fucking world, for making Zayn feel like he was worth saving, worth loving. Zayn sucked tight around the head of Harry's cock before slurping Harry full down his throat, feeling Harry's dick thicken against the inside of his cheeks, stretching Zayn's lips wide and pulsing salty precome.

It was over almost comically fast, Harry scratching blunt fingernails against Zayn's scalp and letting out a desperate whine, his hips bucking against Zayn's nose before he was coming in hot waves down Zayn's throat. Zayn swallowed it all down before pulling off, pushing Harry's hips back against the cabinets and stifling his own giggle when Harry slumped to the floor.

Zayn thought Harry was just fucking with him, figured Harry was on the verge of making some sort of awful joke about Zayn sucking the life out of him, but Harry was eerily silent as Zayn wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. When Zayn looked back at Harry, brow furrowed, he realized that Harry's eyes were closed and that his chest wasn't moving. It would've been funny, but Zayn _knew_ Harry, or at least he thought he did, endlessly endeared by the boy with the bird's nest hair who thought a prank meant replacing all of Zayn's haircare products with bananas.

The entire apartment was shockingly quiet and Zayn was trying his best not to have a panic attack.

“Haz?” Zayn asked, tapping lightly at Harry's face. Harry's head swayed with Zayn's touch, but that was it. Zayn tried again, racking his brain to see if he had any relevant information about dealing with unconscious people. You would think that all of his time spent reading _The Walking Dead_ would provide him with something useful, but Zayn had nothing. Zayn's own heartbeat accelerated the longer Harry remained unresponsive. “Haz – _Harry_?”

There was a protracted moment of absolute silence where Zayn bizarrely thought that Harry couldn't die because he hadn't even met Zayn's sisters yet, and then Harry sucked in a hard, long breath, coughing so hard that tears sprang to his eyes. Zayn was so relieved he exhaled his own ragged breath and tried not to cry.

“Sorry,” Harry said once his breathing finally approximated something close to normal, his tone absolutely apologetic. “Fuck, I'm sorry. I just – I kinda forgot to breathe – ”

“You forgot to _breathe_?” Zayn repeated incredulously.

“It's not – I just – it's one of those things?” Harry said. Zayn wasn't sure who Harry was trying to convince more – Zayn or himself. Zayn wasn't stupid. Nobody just _forgets to breathe_. Not for a whole fucking minute or more. “It happens sometimes? Never for that long, though.”

“What things?”

“Superhero things?”

“Is that a statement or a question?”

Harry shrugged and Zayn fell back against the kitchen tile, huffing out a breath. Harry pulled a face, opening and closing his mouth like he wasn't sure what to say. Then he just nodded once, firmly and to himself, before tucking his cock back into his jeans. Harry crawled across the tile on hands and knees to settle next to Zayn, slinging his leg over Zayn's hip and humming at the skin-to-skin contact when his large hands grazed Zayn's waist. It did feel nice, the same soothing thrum settling underneath Zayn's epidermis that Zayn had come to associate with having Harry in close proximity, but for the first time since they had truly and properly started dating, Zayn was afraid. Zayn wondered if Harry was, too.

Zayn knew that they both should be.

Because Harry was lying – Zayn felt it with the same certainty that he knew that the sun would rise tomorrow and he would spend the slanting morning hours tasting leftover lasagna on Harry's tongue.

Hadn't Harry nearly collapsed the very first time he had spent the night at Zayn's apartment? And then later, when they were all out at Louis' birthday party – hadn't Harry begged Zayn to forget it when Zayn asked about the strange discoloration on his hipbone? Asked Zayn with beautiful green eyes to not question him too intensely? So this instance could very well be one in a series of escalating events.

What Zayn didn't know was _why_ Harry was being untruthful and what he felt would be gained by not being completely honest with Zayn.

Zayn wondered what it all meant, his mind racing through comic books and graphic novels for reference points, trying to mentally leaf through all of the instances where a superhero's powers or general strength weakened and why. But even as Zayn did this, even as he continued to quietly panic, Zayn still felt the same strange calmness, the same tickling warmth that ran like waves underneath his skin. Ebbing, flowing, then ebbing again. As strong and constant as the ocean.

Zayn realized it with a jolt and wondered how he had been so _stupid_. It wasn't a calmness that Harry brought about in Zayn. It was Harry's himself. Zayn was feeling what Harry was feeling, their emotions so entwined that Zayn actually sensed the exact moment when Harry dipped into slumber, right there on Zayn's dirty kitchen floor.

This was – new. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe Zayn was just more aware of it because he and Harry had been away from each other for a few days.

And maybe that was why Harry passed out when Zayn got his mouth on him. Maybe the problem wasn't something about Harry. Maybe the problem was Zayn.

The thought felt like one of those cartoon anvils settling in Zayn's stomach. He almost couldn't breathe, honestly. If he was making Harry sick, if just being around made Harry _lose consciousness_ –

Zayn couldn't do that to Harry. He refused to be the reason for Harry's downfall – hadn't he said that from the beginning? Harry was so _good_ and he was providing this stupid city with a bit of fun and a dash of hope. And Zayn had known going into this that it was too good to last forever, right? All of it had been too good to be true. The graphic artist and the gorgeous superhero who saved him three times, who made him believe that the world was still beautiful and who helped him walk his dog to the park every day. This was real life and not a fucking romantic comedy.

Zayn thudded his head against the kitchen tile and told himself that he couldn't cry. It wasn't even his choice. Zayn obviously cared about Harry a lot, was probably already head over heels in love with him, but he would have to do it, right? In order to keep Harry safe. In order to keep Harry healthy.

He was going to have to break up with Harry.

 

Zayn gave himself a week to mull it over. And during that week, Harry's cold returned, and Zayn caught Harry gaping at more bruises that had appeared all over his milky white thighs, each discoloration large and gruesome looking. Harry tried to hide them with oversized sweats, played coy anytime Zayn tried to initiate a cuddle session, but Zayn knew.

 

On the fourth day, Harry collapsed in Zayn's shower and cut his knee open. Zayn knew Harry was lucky that was all that happened, was so glad that Harry didn't fall and hit his head, but Harry refused to go see a doctor. Zayn covered Harry's cuts over with some Spongebob Squarepants Band-Aids he found in his cupboard and then grabbed his phone and a pack of cigarettes, deciding that he needed to chain smoke and maybe get a good cry in. Zayn pulled up Louis' number, tapping ash off the side of his cigarette and sighing while the phone rang.

“'Lo?” Louis asked, voice sounding soft and sleepy.

“Did I wake you?” Zayn asked, his tone equally low, though nowhere near as soft.

“Was napping,” Louis replied around a yawn. “Fell asleep watching General Hospital, I guess.” Zayn hummed and took another pull from his cigarette, letting the smoke rattle around his lungs before exhaling. “You all right, Zee?”

Zayn sighed, biting at his bottom lip. “Louis, what I'm gonna tell you – it really needs to stay between you and me. Like, I mean it. You can't even tell Liam.”

Louis was quiet for a long moment. When he answered, it was with a very quiet, “All right.”

“I, um. I think I'm making Harry sick.”

Louis huffed out an annoyed breath. “Then stop having him at your house every fucking night until you feel better.”

“ _No_ , Louis,” Zayn answered, exasperation choking his throat. “Like. Not that kind of sick. I think I'm affecting his powers.”

Louis was silent for so long that Zayn actually thought he had dropped the call or Louis had hung up on him or something. Zayn pulled the phone away from his ear to check that Louis was still on the line but then Louis was speaking again, his voice uncharacteristically urgent. “Like, you think you're weakening his powers or something?”

“Yeah,” Zayn replied. “Like, ever since we first started hanging out, he would fall against things. I thought he was just being clumsy, which I guess he is. But also like. He's been at my apartment almost nonstop since he got back from Portland, and he's passed out twice.”

“And you're sure it's you and not just like some illness that he's hiding from you?”

“I'm almost positive it's me, Lou,” Zayn answered. “Like, 97%.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

This time it was Zayn's turn to fall silent. “No.”

“ _No_?”

“Yeah. No.”

“Why not?”

Zayn groaned. “Because what if it _is_ me, Lou? What if he confirms it? How could I even – how could I just keep going on with this relationship if I'm making him _sick_?”

Louis made a low, pitying noise that Zayn immediately detested. “Babe, you're gonna have to talk to him. Maybe – maybe it's nothing. Maybe he has a stomach bug.”

“Or maybe my life is honestly the movie _Hancock_ ,” Zayn retorted scornfully. “Minus the part where both of us have superpowers.”

“Maybe,” Louis replied. “But you won't know unless you ask him, right?”

Zayn hung up the phone and finished off his cigarette before lighting another one. It was cold out, the wind whipping Zayn's hair into his eyes, and Zayn felt like the worst sort of cliché, trying to make sense of things that were clearly bigger than himself.

The thing Zayn had always admired most about Harry was that he had always been such a source of light and inspiration for Zayn. His muse, his calming force. So how was it that now Harry's presence made him feel so _lost_?

Zayn closed his eyes and felt a tremor run through his arteries when he heard Puppy howl at the moon from inside of the apartment.

 

That night, Zayn had a dream that he was being kidnapped by people who broke into his apartment and scared the shit out of his dog. This ended up being ironic, because when Zayn woke up, it was to people breaking into his apartment and scaring the shit out of his dog.

Zayn didn't even have enough time to scream or wake Harry up or anything – one minute he was jolted out of his bed by two men in ski masks, and the next he was getting hit in the head with the butt of a handgun.

And that was kinda it.

 

When Zayn came to, his first absurd thought was that he was still wearing his raggedy Avengers pajamas. The second thought was general happiness that he wasn't dead. The third was that he was really, really cold and he was probably concussed this time.

It took a few moments for Zayn's vision to focus, but when he was finally able to make his eyes work again, it was to the frightening realization that his arms were tied together behind his back with what felt like a cable tie. Not only that, but he was sitting alone and very high up, in one of the half-finished developments that were springing up all over the Mission. It actually reminded Zayn of the final fight scene in _The Dark Knight_.

Terror seized through Zayn's body and he fought against the urge to scream or cry out. Instead he bit at his lip, telling himself that he needed to focus and take in all of the details around him.

There was a light hanging from some open scaffolding to his left, and someone was lying on the floor below it – Zayn couldn't see well enough to know who or what condition they were really in. Zayn could also hear some banging coming from somewhere below him, as well as hushed voices and loud footsteps. Once Zayn concentrated on it, tuning out the blaring sound of traffic that was wafting from the street below, Zayn could tell that the banging was actually the sound of multiple someones coming up a staircase that felt like it was somewhere to Zayn's right. Zayn held his breath as the voices came steadily nearer, feeling something stutter in him when he realized one of them sounded almost desperately familiar. Almost like –

“ _Louis_?” Zayn gasped, betrayal coursing hot through his veins as his best friend appeared at the head of a hallway overhung with wiring. “Are you _serious_?”

Louis actually had the gall to appear apologetic, even as he stood in front of Zayn with a gun in one hand and a ski mask hanging from his back pocket. “I'm honestly really sorry, Zayn,” Louis said, pouting and tucking the gun into his waistband. “I know you're going to be very upset with me, and I never wanted that. You're my very best friend.”

“Clearly not,” Zayn huffed. “Since you just almost _killed me_ and all.”

“Um, that was not part of the plan!” Louis exclaimed, exchanging a nervous glance with the shadowy figure standing behind him. “I wasn't the one who hit your head!”

“Like it makes a difference,” Zayn hissed. “Either way you still broke into my fucking apartment.”

“We just wanted Harry!” the other person yelled, finally emerging from behind Louis. Zayn felt his disappointment sink even lower when he took in the familiar broad shoulders and what were normally kind, brown eyes. Now, however, Liam's entire countenance was screwed up into something hard and ugly. “If you had stayed _asleep_ – ”

“Liam, you are not helping,” Louis chided, poking at Liam. “Go – stand guard over Harry's body or something.”

Liam rolled his eyes but did as instructed, walking over to the limp figure that was still lying prostrate underneath the flickering light. Now that Louis had said who it was, Zayn couldn't help but wonder how he had missed it. How many times had he drawn those sloping shoulders, the ones now freakishly still? And how many times had he wound his fingers through those curls, tugging on them softly as Harry turned bleary eyes up at him? And was Harry _really_ – ?

“We honestly had only wanted Harry,” Louis said softly, coming to stand in front of Zayn. “He stopped breathing sometime after we brought you both up here. I mean, he might be . . . but he might not be. I dunno if things are different for superheroes. Liam's been morbidly obsessed ever since they started talking about Harry in the _Chronicle_. Wanted to get on his good side or whatever. But Liam said one day he ran into Harry, in costume of course, in SOMA and Harry just brushed him off.”

“And so Liam decided he would kidnap Harry and rough him up after that?” Zayn hissed. “I wasn't aware Liam's life was the plot of _Kick-Ass_.”

“I don't think that was the original plan, no,” Louis answered slowly. “But after Harry came to my party, it certainly did become a bit of that. You remember how they know each other? Apparently Liam tried to make it official when they were sixteen and Harry turned him down and then decided not to attend his birthday party. And then you told me that Harry was showing weird signs of weakness the other day. It was like you were handing us a moment wrapped in a bow and everything. You remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Zayn spat. “But you'll have to forgive me for not being more affected by Liam's tragic back-story, though I am playing a tune on the world's tiniest violin. So, Liam's butthurt over something that happened almost ten years ago. Big deal. What made you decide to go along with this half-brained plot? I never knew you to be so stupid.”

Louis shrugged although something in the jerky movement of his shoulders demonstrated how much Zayn's words hurt. Zayn felt something triumphant hum through his body, warming him from the inside. “I love him. Plus I've always wanted to try out a life of crime. And Harry seems kind of annoying – no offense.”

Zayn stared. “So now what? You k – you hurt Harry and you kill me and go on with your happy, spoiled, white boy life?”

“Hey,” Louis protested. “I'm not spoiled. I have a lot of complexity you know.”

“Louis,” Liam called softly from where he was still standing in the corner of the half-finished room.

“From my vantage point, you have the complexity of a goldfish,” Zayn retorted.

“ _Louis_ ,” Liam tried again, this time louder and much more urgently.

“And I resent that you think I would kill you,” Louis continued. “I love you dearly and I already told you that we only wanted Harry. We just tied you up as a precaution.”

“LOUIS!” Liam screamed. “ _Harry's not here_!”

That caught Louis' attention. When he turned to regard Liam, his blue eyes were dark and stormy. Liam shrank underneath Louis' harsh gaze and he strongly resembled a puppy who had been scolded by its owner. “What do you mean, 'Harry's not here'?” Louis asked, voice deceptively sweet.

“I – you were talking – and I turned to listen because – _monologue_ – ”

“Liam,” Louis tried again. “What did I tell you earlier? About the keys to super villain success?”

“That it would only work if we both kept our heads on straight,” Liam answered promptly. “And to leave all of the major talking points to you.”

“And look what you did,” Louis answered. “You took your eyes off the prize.”

“You both did,” a deep voice tsked from somewhere behind Zayn. They all turned in comic unison and then there was a veritable wave of water flooding through the room from every direction. The streams were targeted, completely avoiding Zayn as water banged around the scaffolding and doused both Liam and Louis. The torrent stopped and Louis sputtered, his hair completely fallen into his eyes, but just as he and Liam caught their breath and had enough of a mind to appear absolutely terrified, the water returned, surging around both Louis and Liam's bodies and actually pinning each of them to their own pole with a weird band of water around their waists. It was the most awe-inspiring thing Zayn had ever seen.

Well, second most.

Because when Zayn turned his head and caught sight of Harry fucking Styles floating outside of the half-finished apartment complex, little bubbles of moisture around his extremities keeping him buoyant, Zayn wasn't sure he had ever seen anything so beautiful.

“Look, Zayn!” Harry exclaimed. He looked so _normal_ , healthy, even, his cheeks pink from the cold and wearing a pair of Zayn's dingy sweatpants. “I can _fly_! I won't have to call an Uber driver to get around anymore!”

 

 

_One Year Later_

 

“It's kind of annoying that they got off so easily,” Harry remarked as he sighed over his iPad. Zayn didn't even have to look over from where he was cooking at the stove to know what Harry was talking about. Hell, everyone in San Francisco had been following this case obsessively. It was Harry's first real bust as a superhero and Louis came from one of the most powerful families in the city. However, Zayn's testimony, censored as it was to protect Harry and himself, had apparently not been compelling enough to convict Louis and Liam for kidnapping and attempted murder. Instead they were getting off with only a petty trespassing charge, a real tap on the wrist considering all of the mayhem their poor choices had caused.

“That's the United States criminal justice system for you,” Zayn answered with a sigh, setting a plate of French toast in front of Harry on the table. “The only thing I hope is that Payne and Tomlinson both leave you alone. You've got enough to worry about.”

Harry hummed contemplatively but Zayn knew Harry well enough at this point to recognize that Harry was agreeing with him. It would be rather sad if Zayn wasn't able to read Harry by this point, especially since Zayn had invited Harry to move into Zayn's shithole of an apartment six months ago. Zayn rationalized that Harry might as well live there considering how much time he was spending in Zayn's bed, and Puppy certainly appreciated Harry's presence. Harry had grinned and broke his lease the next day.

But ever since what they had both decided to refer to as “the unfortunate scaffolding incident,” a slew of wannabe super villains had flooded the streets of San Francisco, all of them eager to take a chance at beating Harry. None of them had proven to be a real threat in any shape or form, especially not compared to a guy with superhuman strength, the ability to control and manipulate water, and who had only fairly recently discovered he could fly and no longer needed to take public transportation. Harry hadn't even been lying when he said that he forgot to breathe sometimes – that apparently was actually a thing he could do, starting and stopping his lungs and his heartbeat, although it took him a while to get to a point where he could do it intentionally. Once he did master this particular skill, though, it'd been enough to fool Louis and Liam and scare the shit out of Zayn.

The bruises and fainting – that was a whole other thing. And it was only months later, once the marks had long disappeared and they could talk about the unfortunate scaffolding incident without Harry bursting into tears over the idea of anyone hurting Zayn, that Harry was finally able to admit that his general malaise and tendency to randomly lose consciousness had been because of Zayn.

Zayn's analogy to _Hancock_ apparently hadn't been that far off. Harry had rambled a fair bit about “two halves of a whole” and “soul mates” and other big, loaded words that made Zayn's head spin and his heart swell. The gist of it was that Harry had gone to a fortune teller when he was sixteen and she said that Harry would lose his powers once he met “the one.” He wouldn't die or anything quite that dramatic, but after some unpleasantness and discomfort, he would become a normal human being, or as normal as someone like Harry could ever hope of being. Zayn probably would've thought this was one of the top ten stupidest stories he had ever heard if he hadn't already assumed something similar was going on, so Zayn just listened patiently as Harry recounted his tale in that slow, meandering way of his.

“So one day you're gonna become a normal person then,” Zayn said. “No powers. No flying. No nothing?”

“Nah, I don't think so,” Harry answered with a sly smirk. “I mean, you haven't seen me fainting ever since I made my heart stop on the scaffolding, have you? I think I cheated that fortune teller out of my boring human fate by like. Kinda dying.”

And well. Harry had been strong as a racehorse ever since that night.

It sucked that Zayn's best friend turned out to be a wannabe super villain in one of the stupidest plot twists of all time. And it sucked that the city was being overrun by dumbasses trying to beat up Zayn's boyfriend. But other than that, life was pretty damn good, more than a scared graphic artist standing in the middle of an alleyway could ever hope for. Zayn had his Harry and his Puppy, and that was so much more than he had been expecting when he decided to go out and watch a Giants game that fateful day almost two years ago.

Once Harry finished off his French toast and began getting dressed for the party to celebrate the release of Niall and Zayn's first graphic novel, Zayn patted his own slacks pocket to check that the ring box was still there. Puppy padded over to sit at Zayn's feet, and Zayn pet her idly, wondering what the next thrilling installment of his and Harry's life would read like.

 


End file.
